


Windows

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan





	Windows

Castiel Novak first met Dean Winchester across several metres and an open window. He was lounging out on his balcony as he often did in the late hours of the summer evenings, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other.

The sound of two men wrestling furniture out of a truck and up the half dozen steps to the house next door to his had drawn his attention for a brief time earlier that afternoon, but aside from a glance up from his laptop, he barely paid it any mind.

But oh did he start paying attention when the shorter of the two men in a sweat stained t-shirt and low slung jeans yanked open his own first floor balcony doors and stepped out. He leaned on the wrought iron and brick balustrade and took a deep breath in.

“Hey, how are ya?” The voice came purely from Texas. Castiel kept his thumb where he was up to and studied the man who was flashing him a broad grin.

“Hello.” Castiel said reservedly. “Just moving in?”

“Yup. Got the place last week.” Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “Me and Sammy pitched in while he was going to Stanford.”

“That’s ...nice.”

Sam must have been the big guy with the shoulders that barely fit through the front door. Boyfriend? Husband? Family? He hesitated to ask.

“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester. And the big moose is Sam.”

“I’m Castiel Novak.” Sam..Winchester? Brother or husband...

“You got the same name as that writer guy. Bet you must get asked about it all the time.” Dean jammed his hands into his pockets, making his chest look even broader.

“Once in a while.”

That was enough social interaction for one evening. He had to go back in and wrestle with characters and plotlines and beat them into submission. He rose to his feet.

“Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean looked faintly disappointed, rose one hand and waved before heading back inside.

 

He next saw Dean when he was heading down to his mailbox a few days later. He clutched his life saving coffee like a beacon of hope in the darkness that was his soul at seven am.

A car door creaked open with that old fashioned sound he associated with vehicles that didn’t understand what airbags and immobilisers were, where the seats were benched, the airconditioning was a hand cranked handle and what wasn’t solid steel was probably leather. He glanced down the street to spot the vehicle in question and saw Dean Winchester, keys dangling in hand while he wrangled two cups of coffee, one on top of the other.

He hurriedly stared at his mailbox, turning so his back was to Dean. It would have been appalling to have been caught staring.

It was the swift grunt and the sound of a paper cup, a full paper cup, hitting the ground, followed by a large amount of swearing that had him glancing back. Dean halfheartedly kicked the cup and sighed. The Winchester front door opened, and Sam clattered down the steps with big boots. He beamed at Dean, yanked the remaining cup from his hands, and took a big swig.

“Hey! Bitch!”

“Jerk.” Sam replied goodnaturedly, slung his backpack over his shoulder and strolled down the street.

Dean sighed again in irritation.

Castiel had no idea why he spoke up. He had a hell of a lot of work to do and his editor was breathing down his neck. “You need coffee?”

“More than my next breath,” Dean said mournfully.

“I have a fresh pot. You are welcome to some.” Castiel gestured upwards.

“You might have just saved my life.” Dean approached with that ground eating stride and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “I will owe you one. Owe you ten.”

Castiel withdrew under the force of such enthusiasm and shuffled in slippered feet back to his front door with Dean close behind.

“Hey wow. This place is awesome.” Dean stared around at his eclectic decor, the artwork on the walls he had collected from all over the world. The sculptures he had purchased because he liked them. The second hand furniture he had restored.

Castiel silently left him in his loungeroom, and headed for the kitchen. He pulled a coffee cup down from a shelf.

“How do you like it?”

“Like my men. Sweet and hot.” Dean drawled.

Castiel fumbled the cup and it clattered on the sink.

“Ri - right.” Castiel cleared his throat.

There was silence from his loungeroom for a while. Castiel doctored the coffee with sugar. “Milk?”

There was no reply.

“Dean?” Castiel took the few paces back to the room and peered in. Dean was staring at the back of a book.

Dean glanced up, his mouth open and eyes wide with shock. “This is...you.” He pointed at the author picture.

“Not one of my best,” Castiel said flatly.

“You are Castiel Novak.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “I told you that. Milk?”

“Uhh, yeah. Sure.” Dean stared back down at the book in his hands. “I have read everything you have ever written.”

Castiel returned with the coffee and held it out toward Dean. He had replaced the book and was running his finger along the spines of the others. He tugged one out. “My favourite.”

“Why?”

Dean took the coffee and stared at the cover. “I first read it after Mom died and Dad took off. It was just Sammy and I. I think I was ...twenty one. Sammy was just eighteen. Just got into premed.”

Brother.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean shook his head. “It is what it is. I just meant, your book. It is got me through. It was like…” He rubbed his hand over his unshaved jaw. “Your words, your story, I found something in it that comforted me. I always regretted losing it. We moved around a lot. I never found another copy.”

Castiel gently took the book from Dean’s hands. “Drink your coffee.”

Dean clutched the cup and stood staring moodily into space.

Castiel picked up one of the hundred pens he had scattered around the house and opened the frontispiece. He scribbled for a moment, tucked the pen in his pocket.

“Here.” He held out the book.

Dean frowned.

Castiel pushed the novel, his first, into Dean’s hands. “It’s yours.”

“I can’t take that,” Dean protested, shaking his head.

“Yes, you can. It would mean very much to me if you would.”

Dean gave him a faint smile. “Hot and sweet.”

Castiel felt the blush climb and stepping back, he cleared his throat. “I...uh…”

“Sorry. Shit.” Dean helplessly gestured with the cup of coffee, clutching the book close to his chest. “I’m babbling. You are Castiel Novak.”  
“Dean.” Castiel put a hand on his arm. “You are going to have to get past that if we are to be neighbours.”

“I know. But…”

“I have work to do.” Castiel smiled faintly, his first smile for Dean. “Go. Enjoy your coffee and the rest of your day.”

 

Later that night, as Castiel sat with his cup of tea on the balcony, retrieving his book from the previous evening, he looked up as the lights came on in the house that had been silent all day. Music came on shortly after and the strains of classic rock coloured the warm summer air. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Shortly after, Dean came upstairs to his loungeroom and opened the doors. He wore a greasestained shirt and jeans that had seen better days.

“Hey Cas?” His voice lifted above the sound.

Cas? “Yes?” Castiel called back.

“Sammy has picked up take out. Feel like joining us for dinner?”

Castiel hesitated. “I should…”

“You don’t have to stay long. Half an hour. We will promise not to hog all the spring rolls.”

“Alright.” His mouth moved before his brain could reconsider. “When?”

“Ten minutes?”

“Can I bring anything?”

“Nope. We got it covered. I’m just gonna take a shower.” Dean pointed back into the house.

Castiel tried not to think of that mental image as he changed from lounge pants into jeans and a tshirt.

 

Ten minutes later, he knocked on the Winchester front door, a six pack of beer he had fetched from his cellar under his arm. When Dean answered the door, hair damp and a beaming smile, he held the cardboard holder out wordlessly.

“Hey, thanks, man. Come on in. Sorry about the mess, with me working and Sammy studying, we haven’t had much time to unpack.” Dean gestured around at the front room. It was filled with boxes in various stages of unpacking.

“Quite alright.” Castiel followed Dean into the house. Dean headed up the stairs and he followed.

Sam was pulling a heap of white boxes and containers from two large plastic bags. His smile was just as broad and welcoming as Dean’s.

“Heya. You must be Cas. Man, I’m so stoked to meet you.” Sam held out his huge paw.

Castiel shook it, uncertainty still keeping him hesitant. “Yes. And thank you.”

“You are Dean’s favourite writer. Seriously.”

“Sammy. Shut up.”

Sam continued on blithely ignorant of the blush growing on his brother’s cheek. “He sent me like ten messages today when he found out we lived next door to THE Castiel Novak.” He handed Castiel a plate.

Dean moved easily, three bottles of beer, tops removed, held easily. He jerked out an elbow and dug Sam square in the ribs. “Ignore the moose, Cas. Dig in.”

 

Later, much longer than thirty minutes later, Castiel walked with Dean to the door. Sam had long since gone to his room to study and the two men had shared easy conversation until Castiel had found himself laughing.

Now he was silent as he hesitated on the top step, oddly reluctant to return to his home.

“Thank you for dinner, Dean. I appreciated the company.”

“I’m glad you took time out.” Dean leaned against the door frame, studying Castiel.

“I enjoyed it. Very much.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, before Castiel broke it and turned away.

“Cas?” Dean asked suddenly.

He turned. “Yes?”

“Would you like to go out with me sometime? On a date?”

Castiel blinked. His mouth opened in surprise. And his lips curved in a smile. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s returned smile was like sunshine.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel stepped into his space. He raised his hand and touched Dean gently on the cheek. He leaned in and brushed his lips against Dean’s.

Dean’s hands came up to rest on his hips and when he pulled back those green eyes were delightfully dazed.

“See you for coffee in the morning?” Castiel asked, his voice a little more gruff than before. He stepped back and Dean released him.

“Yeah.”

Castiel glanced back at the door when he reached his. Dean was still standing there, and raised his hand.

“Night, Cas.”

“See you in the morning, Dean.” 


End file.
